


Flower Dictionary

by haliae



Series: Flower Shop AU [1]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Flowers, Fluff, M/M, no drama just fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haliae/pseuds/haliae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitch Grassi is a florist. He uses his knowledge to make the most appropriate arrangements for his clients and to confess his feelings towards an oblivious regular of the shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flower Dictionary

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading Flower Dictionary! This is a short, very cute story, mostly drama-free with no warnings whatsoever. I wrote this to fight my writer's block and I wanted to try new styles - that's why the story is in first person. Hope you enjoy it!

I stand on the back of my shop, my finger pressed to my tongue as I rummage through my first aid kit that surely needs a refill. I let out a relieved sigh when I find a band-aid and make a quick mental note to stop by to buy more on my way home. It’s not a terrible cut and I’m used to the sting by now seeing how I’m lucky enough to find the thorns on the roses sent to me.

I do a quick job of cleaning the wound and I’m just covering it with the band-aid when I hear my name being called. I bite the inside of my cheek, refusing to let myself be too excited because of his visit. _It’s a normal thing_ , I tell myself, _he comes here every day_.

“I’ll be there in a minute!” I say, loud enough for him to hear me, before glancing quickly on the small mirror in front of me just to be sure that I don’t have blood or dirt smeared on my face. I make my way to the front of the shop and this time no amount of cheek-biting would prevent the smile that blooms on my face. “Good morning, Scott.”

Scott Hoying shoots me a heartwarming smile as soon as he sees me and his sapphire eyes crinkle adorably making it all too difficult to keep a blush from my face.

I never thought that I would be close to a novelist one day. Granted, we’re not exactly close, but we talk every day when he comes here to fetch fresh flowers for his studio. He confessed to me a week after he became a regular to my small flower shop that the flowers help to create a peaceful atmosphere for his creative process. I try my best to provide beautiful arrangements each day.

Now, he’s been a regular for a few weeks past seven months. We don’t really talk outside of the shop but he seems to enjoy spending one or two hours in the shop while I assemble his bouquet and afterwards arrange all the flowers in my inventory in their rightful places. I don’t mind his company. He doesn’t bother me or disturb my work, he just talks me through it.

By now, I know lots of things about Scott Hoying.

I know of the flowers that he doesn’t quite enjoy and I know how he enjoys his coffee. I know a bit about his family and I know every detail of his sister’s last visit because Scott is completely fascinated by his nephew. I know that his studio is a few minutes from here and that he struggles with sleeping a lot of nights. I know that he’s kind and passionate and that he’s completely oblivious to my feelings.

It’s not like I ever told him properly that sometime during the last seven months he managed to hold my heart in his hands. No, I never walked to him with his flower arrangement only to press a kiss to his lips, though I thought about it. I thought about it _a lot_. I never confessed in a heart wrenching moment, holding his pale hands in mine. No, I’ve never been so straightforward.

I do, however, give him such affectionate looks that make me embarrassed when I think about it. I smile wider when I’m talking to him than I do with anyone else. And the arrangements for him are filled with my wishes and my feelings towards him.

The language of flowers isn’t well used anymore. It’s considered romantic and beautiful but no one really cares for it when buying flowers. I know it because my clients always run to the same cliche arrangements that mean little. I just intervene in case they wish to take an arrangement which is appropriate for a funeral to a wedding or any other tragic scenarios. That said, I never actively thought that Scott would know of my feelings by looking at the bouquets I give him, but I believe that subconsciously, I wish he would.

“Good morning, Mitch.” He says, ripping me from my thoughts and leaning against my counter. His elbow support his weight and his arms look so sinfully beautiful against the fabric of his shirt that I feel my throat growing dry. I avert my gaze, focusing on his face which isn’t any better if I’m being honest. He has this lazy beauty with his messy hair and sleepy blue eyes. He didn’t have coffee yet. “So, what do you have for me today?”

“Mhmm,” I hum, narrowing my eyes even though I planned most of his bouquet in my mind already. Scott said from day one that he trusts me to make beautiful arrangements for him and from day one he never chose one flower. “Are you working on prose or poetry today?” I ask, more out of curiosity than to let it affect the arrangement, but he didn’t know that.

“Prose.” He replies and then grimaces. “My editor is really pressuring me. They want the book ready to publish by fall.”

I start strolling around the shop and I feel his eyes on me as I land my eyes on the flowers. “How much of it did you already write?” I ask while I gather tulips on my hands. Red for my silly declaration of love, yellow for the hopelessness of it all and for his beautiful smile, striped tulips of white and purple for his beautiful eyes.

“I wrote a good amount, but you never know when inspiration starts to run short.” I give him a sympathetic smile and I bring the flowers I chose to the counter so I could arrange them properly. “Do you ever lose inspiration for your arrangements?”

I think about it, pursing my lips while turning around to retrieve small scissors. “I guess, sometimes. I try to think of the occasion, however. What would the person want to express through the flowers? After I answer that, I have all my options and I just have to sort them out.” I cut the stems so they’re all the same size. I meet his eyes and shrug with a small smile. “I think it’s easier for me to deal with lack of inspiration.”

He hums and I get the ribbon and rope I usually use to tie his bouquets and I nearly drop them when he asks “What does inspire you when you’re making my bouquets?”

I swallow, feeling nervous all of a sudden. It’s a simple, innocent question however I can’t be completely honest. I can’t stand here and tell him that the hope of his heart recognizing mine is what gives me ideas for his arrangements. I bite my lip and try to come with a reply that is the closest possible to the truth.

“I try to picture you in your studio,” I start and I keep my eyes focused on the knots I tie around the stems. “And I try to think of you writing and what I think that would help you.” I hand him the tulip bouquet, smiling brightly. “Tulips are very positive flowers. The vibrant colors might give you some energy.”

His lips curl up in a dazzling smile and I remember just how much I wish I could kiss him. He cradles the arrangement gently in his arms as if it’s a treasure of some sort and my heart leaps on my chest. Another thing that I know about Scott Hoying is that he’s too endearing for me to be safe around him.

“Thank you, Mitch. They’re beautiful as usual.”

“ _Thank you_?” I ask obnoxiously, raising my eyebrows. “You better pay me, bitch.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes and I giggle, dropping the act. I accept his money but he doesn’t move after that and I know that he wouldn’t.

“Well,” I say and then I pat the high chair beside me on the opposite side of the counter he stands. “I know you want to hide here for a little while, so you might as well get comfortable.”

Scott beams at me and makes his way beside me, our arms nearly touching while he turns around on the chair like a child. We spend the next hour chatting and laughing in a comfortable atmosphere and I know that each day I feel for him more strongly.

-

He doesn’t come again for a week. It’s weird. It leaves a hole on my chest and it makes me feel more uncomfortable than it should. I don’t want to admit it but after the third day, I slump my shoulders and tell myself that I miss Scott. He has become such a constant in my life that I took him for granted. I don’t even have his number to text him. But then again, why would his florist text him? It makes no sense.

And yet, I want to hear from him.

I do, on Friday, but it’s not him that appears on my shop. A woman that seems to be around her forties step inside and she has a tired expression about her. She has dark skin and her curly hair  is in a bun on the top of her head. Her clothes are nicely tailored and I know they must be expensive. Her brown eyes seem to make a hole through my skull and I shift uncomfortably. She fits the description of Naomi, his editor.

“Are you Mitch Grassi?” She simply asks when I finish welcoming her to the shop. I am nervous now and my palms are sweating so I just nod while wiping my hands on my jeans. Hopefully they wouldn’t get dirty. “Great. You know Scott Hoying, right?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I reply feeling foolish that even his name makes me smile. “He’s a regular of the shop. He hasn’t come this week, however.”

“I know, I’m his editor. He was busy with the launching of a new collection of his novels this week and he hasn’t stopped talking about how he needs flowers.” She drags her hand over her face while she sighs. “I suggested to get any other arrangement but he wants yours, specifically. And he told me you’d know what to do.”

I smiled. He’s sweet. Terribly busy and giving his editor a headache, but sweet. I nod. “I do.”

The bouquet sent his way has the sweetest flowers I could think of. I put my longing in it and my wishes to see him again soon. For good measure, I also put a card with my phone number between the flowers. I regret it as soon as the woman left the building, biting on my tongue to prevent myself from calling her and embarrassing myself even further.

While I wait and wonder if he already got my flowers, I think of what the editor said. I miss Scott and it feels like a bruise you can’t stop poking but it’s more bearable now that I know he thought of me while he was away - even if he just likes my arrangements. I smile to myself, taking a bouquet for myself that night.

-

 

I step out of the shower to the sound of my cellphone ringtone. I hurry to pick up with slippery fingers, not bothering to check the caller first.

“Hello?” I hear a relieved sigh.

“Mitch? Is that you?” Scott’s voice sounds both heavenly and tired and I sit on my bed with my lips curled in a smile.

“Hi. Yes, it’s me. You got my flowers, I believe.”

“I did!” He sounds excited and I giggle. “They’re beautiful. Thank you. And thank you for sending your number! I wanted to visit, I promise, I really did. But there were so many things to be done and those damn interviews and Naomi kind of held me captive and I felt so stupid I never asked your number before and I—”

“Scott,” I interrupt him.

“Yes?” He anxiously replies.

“Breathe.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

I chuckle, shaking my head a bit though he can’t see me. “It’s alright. I understand you’re a famous busy novelist. You shouldn’t bother with me that much.”

“What? Bother? No! I, um…” He sighs and I furrow my brows. “Actually, I missed our talks and your flowers. I think that if I could’ve talked to you this week, things would’ve been easier.”

His words make my stupid heart hammer against my chest and I’m glad we’re having this conversation over the phone. I clear my throat. “I missed y—our talks, too. That’s why I sent my number with the flowers. I’m glad you actually looked at them carefully enough to find it.”

“I am meticulous.” He says matter-of-factly and I can see him shrugging in my mind. I chuckle again and he chuckles too. I am about to make another observation when I hear rustling and other voices on the other end of the line.

“Just a minute!” I hear Scott saying but not to me as it’s slightly muffled. “Sorry, Mitch, they discovered me. I mean, the balcony wasn’t the greatest hiding place, but it was quiet.”

“And why the hell are you hiding?” I ask thoroughly confused about what’s happening to Scott.

“I’m at a party. Lots of famous people. Connections are important, Naomi says. And now she’s dragging me back to make small talk to them.” He sounds like a child he’s so upset, but I’m still surprised. He sneaked out of a party - his party - to talk to me? “Mitchieeeeee,” He whines when I don’t reply.

“Don’t make this more difficult for Naomi.” I say, chuckling as he makes an unhappy sound. “You can talk to me later.” I pause. “Or text me, girl. Who even calls people in 2016.”

“You’re right. I just wanted to hear your voice.” I feel my cheeks becoming warm and then more muffled voices. “Ugh, okay, Mitchie, I really need to go. I’ll text you. Talk to you later.”

I laugh when I barely manage to say my goodbyes before the call disconnects. He calls me again Saturday night and this time we spend nearly two hours on the phone. Scott whines about all the serious meetings and interviews he has to attend and tells me how he prefers to just spend his time writing quietly.

 I receive a few texts from him on Sunday but nothing much. I expected so, however, because he told me he would be working on his novel. I don’t mind as much because I’m excited I’m finally seeing him again on Monday. When I lay in bed, I already have the perfect arrangement in mind.

-

I never get to make him the arrangement I thought about.

Scott enters the shop and I’m so happy I feel like I can fly to his arms. He looks exactly the same but then again, I don’t know why I expected him to look any different. He seems overly excited however and I can tell he already had coffee. A lot of it.

“Hi Mitchie, good morning!”

“Good morning, Scott.” I say, smiling widely. I don’t care that I look foolishly in love. I missed him. “So, prose or poetry?”

“Prose! But… I want to make something different, today.” He smiles at me but I feel my face dropping. He doesn’t want me to make him his bouquet?

“Yeah?”

“You always make my arrangements. I want to try today.” Scott says, picking an orchid on his hand.

“Sure!” I say, putting the most genuine smile I can on my face. He wants to experiment what is like to be in my place. He’s interested, I tell myself, although I feel a hint of disappointment creeping on me.

For a few minutes, we dance around the flower shop. He hands me the flowers he wants and I hold them with careful fingers, completely confused and nervous with the outcome. Some flowers after, he halts and looks at my arms seemingly satisfied with them.

 “Yes. I want these.” He beams at me and I nod. “Can you make the bouquet?”

“Yes, sure,” I reply and take the flowers to the counter. “They’re beautiful, Scott. You could replace me.”

“Oh no, nobody could replace you!” Scott sounds so serious I roll my eyes and focus on the task on my hands.

My eyes narrow slightly at the bouquet I tie with a pretty lace. He seems to have purpose this time - his blue eyes are shining and he seems to know exactly what to ask for. I wonder for a moment if Scott can hear my heart shattering when I hand him the bouquet made of love and hope and beauty.

“Well,” I say, forcing a smile and a cheerful tone. “Is this for you or would you like a card to go with it?”

“I would like to have a card, thank you.” He says and I almost feel my eyes filling with tears. Of course he wouldn’t want a bouquet like this for himself. Scott is nearly vibrating he seems so cheerful and excited and despite of the sadness that envelops me, I feel my heart swelling at the sight.

I nod, taking a card and a pen and handing it to him. I can’t see what he writes and even if I could, I would most likely keep looking at him. And that’s what I do. I stare at the way his mouth curl upwards and his hand shake. I smile when he giggles and I find it terribly adorable even though I know well that I shouldn’t use the world adorable for a grown man. I feel a blush on my cheeks when he hands me the card, knowing for a fact I’ve never been so infatuated before.

I tuck the card on the bouquet and hand it to him which he accepts with a smile - I doubt he stopped smiling since he stepped in the shop today. Scott pays and I once again smile at him. He’s almost out of the door when I call for him.

“Good luck!” I tell him and he turns to me, his invisible eyebrows raised making wrinkles appear on his forehead. “With the person you’re giving this, I mean. It’s a lovely bouquet.”

“Thank you, Mitch.”

He says that and then he’s gone.

I laugh bitterly.

To be fair, Scott owes me nothing. Not once I made my feelings obvious to him. Nearly anybody knows or is interested in the language of the flowers so it’s not like I really expected Scott to notice my silly confessions. I thought I was protecting my heart but that didn’t prevent it from breaking. I sniffle a bit and dry my cheeks with my sleeve, raising from where I sat to grab a daisy.

I twirl it on my fingers, my eyes locked in the yellow bud in the middle. I pointedly roll my eyes at myself before plucking the first petal out of it.

“He loves me,” I whisper and my fingers grab the next petal. “He loves me not.” I do my way around the petals slowly and I inhale a sharp breath when only two of them are left. I pluck another petal and the door bell chimes.

I jump out of my skin and the daisy falls to the floor, joining the discarded white petals. My palm is over my heart as I turn around to look at my new client. Well, not new. My brow furrows as I look at Scott. His cheeks are pink and his smile is almost bashful. I think he forgot something and is embarrassed because of it. I hope his date isn’t waiting.

“Hey,” I say, praying to all gods that he doesn’t notice my silly daisy mess. He approaches me and I step away from the daisies to meet him halfway. “Did you forget something? Is something wrong with the flowers?”

“Hi,” He replies and his smile is so beautiful it makes my heart ache in the best possible way. “No, no, everything’s fine.” He continues and I raise my eyebrows. “I… Want you to have this.”

And then he hands me the bouquet he purchased less than fifteen minutes ago. I look from it to his face in complete disbelief and he looks more flustered by the second.

“Um, Mitch?” Scott calls me and I look at him with I assume it’s the most confused expression I’ve ever worn. “Will you… accept it?”

“I…” I hesitantly reach for the bouquet, cradling it in my hands as if I didn’t assemble it moments ago. I look at it as if it’s foreigner or dangerous and my mouth is dangling slightly ajar. “I don’t understand. What does this mean?” I ask like the fool I am and Scott is smiling again.

“I _think_ , and forgive me if I get anything wrong,” He says, getting closer and he points to the different flowers in my hands. “These mean love, and these mean happiness, and these represent hope. Also, I believe these mean beauty?” Scott points to the orchids and I nod slowly. “All of these you used in the arrangements you made for me.” He continues and I have to look somewhere that is not his eyes, my cheeks burning so intensely I feel ill. I see him shifting on his heels and I bite my lip. “Won’t you read the card?”

I look at him only briefly, still not able to meet those blue eyes I grew to love these past months, and then back to the flowers. The card is sitting there exactly the way I left it and I reach for it carefully as if it would burn my skin. I open it and I nearly gasp at it.

“Will you go out with me?” Scott repeats the words on the card and I look at him, filled with the desire to punch him for making me feel unwanted before, but he has such a sweet and earnest - and anxious - look in me that this desire fades as quickly as it came. My bottom lip shakes and I take a deep breath.

I don’t nod or anything. I just turn around to put his - my - bouquet on the counter before roaming around a little. Scott seems nervous and it’s only fair after what he made me go through. I pull a red carnation and step close to him, closer than I ever dared before. I can feel his breath on my skin when I raise my chin to look at his face but suddenly I don’t anymore and I almost chuckle thinking he held his breath.

“Here,” I say, putting the carnation in the space between our faces. He closes his hand over mine, holding the flower in place. “This is my answer.”

“Is this an yes?” He asks and his eyes are filled with so much _joy_ I feel my insides are melting.

“Quite literally, yes.” I reply and giggle and he giggles too and suddenly we’re both teenagers. “I trust you to take me to a fancy date.”

“Oh I will,” Scott says and his smile is warm and possibly the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen. He snakes his arms around my waist and I feel goosebumps bursting on my skin. We’re chest to chest now and I smell flowers, mint and his cologne. “It’s a shame that I can’t surprise you with flowers.”

“But you did!” I reply pointing over my shoulder to the general direction of the bouquet. He chuckles, squeezing me tighter and I put the carnation over his ear so I can wrap my hands around his neck.

“But not _anymore_.” He pouts and I shrug.

“Maybe you’ll have to get creative to surprise me.”

“Well, I can always get you chocolates.” He replies and I laugh, nodding. “Also, I’m curious,”

“Yes?”

“Is there a flower that means ‘I would love to kiss you now’?”

I roll my eyes but there’s a smile on my lips when I pull on his neck to kiss him.


End file.
